Welcome to My Wasted Life

Last night I discovered that the last 3.5 years of my life have been pointless. I wish I could say this is the first time that has happened, but there was that 5 years I spent in a horrible town called "The home of the bible thumping Baptists"or maybe it was called Lagrange, GA, it was definitely one of the two. I moved there for college since I assumed college was necessary if I didn't want to end up homeless on skid row, carrying the love child of a tranny hooker named Monique. (it is amazing what Catholic School will have you believing by the time it is over). There were also those 2 years of grad school that I only did because I was told I "would make more money and earn more respect". Too bad that advice came form a guy working with computers, who had little understanding that a M.A. in Social Services paid less than a tranny hooker named Monique makes turning tricks and offers about the same amount of respect. So yes, it seems that there is a certain established cycle here, so it should not shock me to learn that my entire existence in NYC is completely inconsequential, but somehow I find myself shocked and heart broken.

I moved to Manhattan more than 3 years ago with big dreams of doing something great with my life, and by that I mean, I have worked hard to for over 3 years to hail the cash cab. I wanted a red light challenge. I wanted a street shout out. Every time I get into a cab I put on the surprised face, that I have practiced for hours and hours in the mirror, then I look at the roof of the car where the lights are supposed to be going crazy and then I scream "OH MY GOD I CAN NOT BELIEVE I GOT IN THE CASH CAB". Most cab drivers ignore me and ask where I am going, but never once has Ben bailey turned around and welcomed me to Cash Cab. I am aware I may look stupid with my cab routine, but it is my main dream in life and I want to be ready when it is time.

This dream came to an end last night while I was watching TMZ. They were interviewing the only man that was capable of making all my dreams come true, Ben Bailey, and at the end of the segment the gallery of stoners on TMZ started talking about how Cash Cab is set up and they hold auditions for wannabe actors to get on the show. I was smacked with the reality that, once again, I have wasted years of my life working for something that was never going to happen in the first place.

Now not only am I not going to live out my dream but I also can't even watch the show anymore, because the way my life has gone I am totally convinced that it is only a matter of time before Ben pulls over and picks up Monique.

Sky Writing is Hard To Do Wall-To-Wall

I should start by saying, it is not MY guilt that is in question here. It may seem like I live in a glass house, since I will often sit on the couch 10 feet from Matt and start a chat window with him in Facebook (but in my defense the "what do you want for dinner" game gets on my nerves when it is done out loud) and I rarely ever call anyone anymore since I already know how they are since I can stalk them on FB and I may rely on my "friends" to post news stories so I know what is going on in the world and I spend my work day feeling like I am hanging out with old friends since I am constantly on my phone reading status' and I really enjoy the uncomfortable updates that so and so "has changed their relationship status to single" and getting to relish in the fact that I knew it would never work out from the start. So yes, it may seem like I live in a glass house with what I am about to say, and you may be right.

**sidenote**I should stop here and make it clear that I DO NOT think it matters what kind of house you live in, you should not be throwing stones, unless, of course, you are being chased by zombies, are at a Justin Beiber concert, or trying to deter kids from walking on your lawn.**over**

It makes me really sad that people have let FB replace the phone, the singing telegram, personal email, sky writing, blimps, and pigeons posts. Today I got an email, through FB of course, that let me know one of my good friends has been attacked by a body snatcher. (She used the word pregnant, but let's just agree to call it what it is) Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that I get the info before the big FB blast, that is no doubt on its way, right before the black and white photos from the parasitic growth inside her abdomen and the pictures of her naked belly with her defunct belly button, all of which are only meant to act as suspense builders to the day she posts the size of her womanhood for every to see (yes that is right ladies, for all of you that do not know, 'dilation' is actually the size of your woo woo).

I DO feel special that I was given this information before that guy on her friend list that she has not talked to since 5th grade, but I wish society has not instilled in us that all our communication has to be through FB. I am not trying to be high maintenance or anything, but it seems that when saying:

"Hey friend, I am going to the other side of the cold war. it's been nice knowing you",

you should AT LEAST send a singing telegram.

When I said "Everything", I meant salt, garlic and poppy seeds NOT vengeance, wrath and brutality!

It started off like any other morning... waking up 2 minutes before the alarm clock going off and getting pissed off because only old people do that and then spending my extra 2 minutes laying in bed thinking deep thoughts like "How much DNA could you find if you swabbed any street corner in NY?". Everything was familiar about the morning, little did I know there was a coup d'é·tat being planned. That's right, my ninja knives decided that today was the day that the bagel would win the fight. Needless to say, the knives are no longer allowed to hob-knob with the bread items, because they obviously can not be trusted not to start a revolution. The only victim during the uprising was my thumb (my other fingers that got grossed out and maybe the hard woods, any ideas on how to remove blood from wood floors?) I stood with rivers of blood streaming down my arm and grabbed a towel. I, being built of major toughness, continued to get ready for work thinking that I would stop bleeding eventually. About 30 minutes later, my plasma was still seeping out of the towel. I decided I needed help to wrap my finger. The only one that could help was Matt and he was asleep. I know he does not like to startled from sleep, so I went up to the bed and took the towel off and stood there as blood was dripping to the floor and screamed "OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO DIE!!!!!". Once I was convinced he was up, I told him I was joking (he plays it cool but I know he loves these games). He helped me wrap it and I went to work.

It only took me about 5 minutes for work to get mad at me. Which I need to stop here and vent about how unfair this is. We allow clients to enter the building EVERY DAY that smell like 5 sumo wrestlers ate burning tires and then took a dump on them, they drool all over themselves, get their menses all over the chairs (the 3pt word is intentional since this is a classy page and will never again talk about period here), they piss and crap themselves, and when they are not dropping something out of their mouth onto the floor, they are dropping it on you. SO I was a little offended when people at work decided to complain about me dripping blood all over the place. I was sent home to go get stitches.

I went and got my finger super glued, seriously, they super glued it and after 4 hours of constant bleeding, it stopped instantly. If I knew being a doctor involved art supplies I would have totally gone a different direction. Then they gave me my tetanus shot which I only mention because it has the word anus in it which made my arm feel like it was burning from the inside until I went to bed.

So know I am stuck without the use of a thumb for a week. Here is a list of ways you take your thumb for granted:

• taking off pants (leading me to almost pissing my pants)
• typing
• showering
• double fisting my adult beverages
• Smoking meth
• unscrewing to cap on the flask I keep at work
• thumb war
• sing where is thumb-kin
• making a proper fist to punch people in the face
• -and so many more-

But the silver lining: With my bandage, every day gets at least 1 thumb up, and I have changed up my finger prints which I firmly believe may be useful one day.